Blood Will Out
by Lady Bracknell
Summary: Whilst in pursuit of a suspect, Harry comes face to face with his past. DH spoilers.


**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise remains the property of JK Rowling.**

**A/N: Written for the post DH-challenge at Omniocular on Live Journal. Enjoy :).**

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Harry's feet pounded on the pavement, and, not for the first time, he wished he hadn't had quite such a big lunch. 

"I'll go round the back," Ron shouted, gesticulating wildly at the alleyway to their left and nearly losing his footing in the process on a loose slab. Harry nodded, speeding up a little, and wondering what on earth they looked like to the Muggles in the sitting rooms of their terraced houses, who twitched their net curtains as they ran past.

The man they were pursuing – Wortley Cribbins – was surprisingly light on his feet, and he'd been giving them the slip for weeks. He was wanted for questioning in regards to a spate of incidents with Muggles, elderly and wealthy women who had allowed him into their homes believing him to be some kind of travelling romance novel salesman, and then had signed over all their worldly possessions to him, without having the faintest recollection afterwards of why. They suspected he'd used the Imperius curse, or possibly that he'd cursed the books, since all the women were mystified by their encounter, but had been left inexplicably with a favourable impression of a nice young gentleman with good manners, a silky voice and lovely hair, who they were sure wouldn't have done anything wrong.

Wortley's cloak whipped round the corner, and he disappeared from view momentarily. Harry sped towards the end of the row. If only he could just –

Harry hit something solid, and fell back onto the pavement, skidding a little along the concrete with an "Ouff!". For a second, he thought that Wortley had Stunned him – but as he gathered his wits, he was presented with a rather more mundane explanation.

He hadn't been Stunned – but he _had_ run into someone else's rather large, rotund, form.

And that form was looking at him with rather wide eyes.

"Harry?"

Harry blinked, adjusting his glasses, pushing them back up his nose and thinking that it couldn't possibly be who he thought it was.

The form swam into sharper focus.

"Dudley?"

For a moment, they just looked at each other, blinking slightly in incomprehension, until the sounds of a scuffle just beyond drew Harry's attention. "Oh hell," he muttered, scrambling to his feet.

But he needn't have worried. Ron had Wortley in a head-lock, and though Wortley was writhing and squirming for all he was worth, muttering about how he at least wanted Harry Potter to arrest him and not some miserable sidekick (at which Ron's grip around Wortley's throat tightened quite a bit), he wasn't going anywhere. Especially now Ron had such a tight grip on him his voice had turned into a barely perceptible squeak. "All right, Ron?" Harry called.

"Peachy," Ron muttered. "Come here, you – "

"Do you – do you want a hand, Harry?"

Dudley stepped forward, balling his fist, his eyebrows raised expectantly, and a little hopefully, and Harry smiled. "No," he said. "I think Ron's got it, thanks."

He and Dudley eyed each other for a moment, taking in all the changes that had occurred in the years since they'd last seen each other. Dudley was taller – not any narrower, necessarily, than he had been, but these days he had more of an air of stockiness than pudginess, and Harry thought that if they _had_ have needed help with Wortley, Dudley looked as if he would have come in very handy.

For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, under the weight of Dudley's stare, Harry had the sudden urge to try and flatten his hair, and he wished he looked a little bit less red in the face and sweaty than he no doubt did.

"So what are you – "

"How've you – "

They both spoke at the same time, and grinned.

"Fine – "

"Just – "

They both sniggered, and Harry glanced down the road at Ron. "Ron," he said, "you remember my cousin, Dudley?"

Ron looked up and peered quizzically at them, and then he muttered 'yeah', frowning slightly at the thought, no doubt, of their one and only, less than illustrious, meeting. "Anyway, we'd better get Mr Cribbins here back to the Ministry," he said, tightening his grip on Wortley even more, and making his face turn puce.

Harry met Dudley's eye somewhat apologetically to find him, surprisingly, rather crestfallen. He glanced between him, Ron, and Wortley, for a moment, trying to weigh what he was feeling. He'd never expected to see his cousin – it had been over twenty years since they'd set eyes on each other – but he had to admit that now he had, it would be nice to have longer than a moment, especially when he'd spent half of that moment on the ground. "Erm, can you handle him on your own, Ron?"

"What?" Ron said, as Wortley squirmed and muttered something about Auror brutality. Harry jerked his head – he hoped, subtly – at Dudley. "Oh, yeah. Course," Ron said, and Harry smiled at him gratefully.

"See you in a bit, then," he said, and Ron cast a furtive look up and down the street, and then bundled Wortley back into the alley. After a brief scuffle and some muttered protest from Wortley, there was a brief noise as they Apparated, and then the street fell quiet.

Harry looked up and down the rows of red brick terraced houses, wondering if this was where the Dursleys had gone into hiding. It didn't look too bad. There was a bit of graffiti on the road sign and a couple of crisp packets fluttered in the gutter, but it was nice enough, Harry supposed, and he could just imagine Petunia fitting in with all the curtain twitching.

Dudley shifted from foot to foot. "There's a park just round the corner," he said, "if you're – you know. It's quite nice."

Harry nodded, and they set off down the road in silence.

The park was small, and not unlike the one near Privet Drive. There weren't many trees, but right in the centre was a playground, with swings, a huge metal slide and a roundabout that looked immensely well-used, if the amount of chewing gum stuck to it was anything to go by.

Dudley gestured to the swings, and, with a slight chuckle at the thought that they were probably a bit old for it, Harry chose one and sat down, scuffing his shoes on the concrete underneath as he swayed slightly, back and forth.

He didn't know quite what to say. There were so many things he _could_ say – he'd wondered, sometimes, what Dudley had done with his life, what had happened to Vernon and Petunia – and he supposed, with his connections at the Ministry it only would have taken him two seconds to find out where they were and get in touch.

But he never had. Something had always stopped him. Maybe he'd thought that the past was better off staying in the past, or that they wouldn't want to hear from him, would never have forgiven him for being the reason they'd had to leave their home, their friends, their lives, and start again.

He had wondered, though.

"You won, then?" Dudley said, and, a little startled by the question, Harry turned and looked at him quizzically. Dudley swallowed. "I mean you beat that Vol – de – vont."

"Voldemort?" Harry said, and Dudley nodded. "It wasn't really a case of winning," Harry said, wondering how on earth he'd explain it when he wasn't even sure he really understood everything that had happened himself. "But he's gone – and I'm not, obviously."

"Figured you had – if you'd died, someone would have let us know, I thought. But it's nice to know you didn't."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, that he was sorry, perhaps, for not telling them himself, that he hadn't thought they'd care, but Dudley continued. "So that man back there – was he – evil?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, laughing a little. "We think he's probably more of a petty criminal than – you know, evil – "

"Oh, so you have those, then?" Dudley said, his eyes lighting up slightly in inquiry. "Criminals?"

"Hmm."

"And you – well, catch them? You're like a police – er – " Dudley glanced around, and then leant in, resting his forehead on the chain of his swing. " – wizard?"

"Kind of," Harry said. "I work for the Ministry of Magic – our government. I'm kind of in charge of all the other police wizards – except we call them aurors."

Dudley nodded, studying the knees of his jeans with fierce concentration, taking it all in.

"Oh, so you did amount to something, then," he said quietly. "Dad always said you wouldn't – you'd be a layabout or a drunk, telling your stories to anyone who'd listen – but he hadn't seen you, had he, like I had, fighting those things?"

Dudley looked up tentatively, and it was such an alien expression on his face that Harry found himself once more lost for words. He wrapped his arms around the chains of his swing, unable to deny that the idea Dudley had had faith in him warmed his insides, just a little.

And it wasn't as if it was the first time someone had had faith in him – Ron and Hermione always had, Dumbledore too – and later, when he'd doubted he'd be able to make the changes at the Ministry he wanted, Ginny had told him that he could do anything –

But that Dudley had –

Harry didn't know what it was, but it meant something, and a phrase Aunt Marge had said long ago, blood will out, floated through his mind, although robbed of all its venom, and construed into something completely new.

"I'm working at this place called _Dale's For Nails_," Dudley said, even though Harry hadn't thought to ask. "It's shifts, but the money's all right. I might be up for a promotion when the assistant manager leaves."

Harry raised his eyebrows encouragingly, nodded a little in approval, or some approximation of it. "How's Aunt Petunia?" he said.

"Fine," Dudley said. "Dad, too. He managed to get a job at _Dale's_ – but he's retired now."

Harry murmured in reply, and he watched as Dudley shifted on his swing, making the chain creak. "He plays golf, like he always wanted, but he's crap at it and mum's always on at him about his blood pressure."

"Right," Harry said, sniggering slightly at the thought of Vernon raging round the house with his golf clubs, swearing at them for being defective and showing him up.

They slipped into silence for a moment, and Harry looked around the park, thinking that this was probably the longest and most in-depth conversation he and Dudley had ever had. They'd had arguments, of course, about which trees Harry could climb and which were not to be touched, which patches of grass he could stand on (the dead bits), and which chairs he was permitted to sit on – but never an actual conversation.

It all felt oddly civilised, in a way, although Harry wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting. No-one stayed as they were as a child for their whole life, he thought, and he wasn't quite sure why he was so surprised Dudley was being polite, even friendly, rather than trying to strangle him with one of the chains and steal his pocket money.

"I'm sorry," Dudley said suddenly, "for being such a dickhead, growing up."

"No, it's – "

"Please," Dudley said, meeting his eye with a rather pained expression. Harry recognised it as the one he used when trying to articulate something more complex than a desire for more ice-cream or a new computer game, and so, a little startled, he gestured for him to go on. "I wanted to – I've thought about it a lot."

Dudley swallowed heavily, set his jaw as if stealing himself for something. "After that thing nearly killed me," he said, "that dementor, and you saved me, I wanted to say sorry – or thanks – or something." He smiled faintly, and then looked away across the grass. "I thought I'd have a chance to make it up to you, how I'd acted, but then we went into hiding, and you went away, and I never did."

Harry followed Dudley's gaze, thinking that if his childhood self could see them now, could see Dudley, who'd screamed in his face about how unwelcome he was in their home, who'd shouted that no-one loved him, no-one wanted him, _apologising_, he'd laugh because the two seemed so completely incompatible.

But Dudley had changed, Harry thought. He could feel it, and maybe it had happened as long ago as that night with the dementors, only he hadn't noticed.

"So what about you?" Harry said. "Do you live round here, now?"

"No," Dudley said, sitting back on the swing, seemingly grateful for the lightening of the conversation. "I've just been to visit my son – "

"Your _son_?" Harry said, slightly agog, and Dudley grinned.

"Yeah," he said, and as his grin widened at Harry's evident surprise, he was struck by the thought that it was probably the first time he'd seen Dudley smile like that – not in malice, or to solicit something, but with genuine pleasure and warmth.

It suited him, Harry thought.

"Do you – do you want to see? I've got a – "

Dudley gestured to his back pocket, and when Harry nodded, took out his wallet and opened it, handing it to Harry. Inside was a picture of a chubby, blonde-haired boy – about three or four, Harry supposed, eating a chocolate bar whilst seated on the back of a red, plastic tricycle. "That's him," Dudley said, "Robbie."

"Wow."

Harry found himself rather stumped. In all the times he'd imagined Dudley, he'd still pictured him as a plump, spoilt seventeen year old. It had never really occurred to him that Dudley would have grown up, might have a family of his own.

"It didn't work out with me and his mum," Dudley said, "but she lets me see him pretty much whenever I want, and he comes to stay on Saturdays, so it's all right."

"He's – he looks really happy, Dudley."

"Thanks."

Harry fumbled in his pocket for his own wallet, drawing it out slowly as he handed Dudley's back to him. "This is my lot," Harry said, taking the picture out and handing it to Dudley, then leaning over so he could show him properly. "That's my wife, Ginny – "

"You're married?"

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning at the thought that it had been a while before he'd believed it, too. "And that's Albus, Lily and James – "

"Three of them?"

"Yeah – "

"Is that Albus? He looks like you."

" – and that's my godson, Teddy."

"Your godson?"

"Hmm," Harry said. "His parents died in the war, so he stays with us a lot. We always try to make him feel like one of the family, though – I mean he is – "

Dudley frowned, and Harry stopped, wondering if it was Teddy's blue hair, or the fact that everyone in the picture was waving that was giving him pause. "You mean you don't treat him like we treated you?" Dudley said quietly.

"I didn't mean – "

"I know," Dudley said. "But we did, didn't we? We never made you feel like one of us – we always made you feel left out."

Harry started to say something, and then stopped. He hadn't said it, any of it, to make Dudley feel guilty, but there was no point pretending he'd had the happiest of childhoods, because Dudley had been there and must know that he hadn't. At the time, he'd revelled in Harry's isolation, but – something had changed, and when he met Dudley's eyes, they were filled with quiet regret. "Sometimes," he said quietly, glancing down.

Dudley took a deep breath, and then looked back at the photo. "He's got blue hair," he said.

"Not always," Harry replied, chuckling slightly at the thought, and when Dudley looked up quizzically, he added, "he can change it – any colour he wants."

"Mum'd have a fit," Dudley said, although his tone was more impressed than anything, and Harry laughed.

She probably would, he thought, and for the first time in years, he smiled at the thought of his aunt – but it wasn't really that that did it. It was the thought that he and Dudley had shared a thought – a joke – and for a moment, Harry regretted that he hadn't looked Dudley up, tried to have this conversation sooner.

Dudley looked at the picture for a moment longer, and then handed it back. "It's cool, the way they move, in the picture," he said, casting a rueful glance at the picture of Robbie in his wallet on his lap. "I wish mine did – then you could see him riding around."

"Well – " Harry said, and then stalled, wondering if he should really suggest what he was going to. "I mean – I could take one for you, sometime, a moving one. If you wanted."

Dudley grinned, and then folded up his wallet and slid it back into his pocket, and Harry smiled too, thinking that it was nice – unexpectedly so – to have even vague plans to see each other again. They'd probably never be close, he thought, not like his children and Ron's were, but after so long, he couldn't help thinking that there was no point holding a grudge about anything that had happened in the past.

"I'd better – " Harry said, gesturing at nothing in particular, to down the road where they'd first encountered each other. "That man – he needs questioning, and I should probably be there to oversee it."

"Ok," Dudley said. "I've got to get to work in a bit, too."

Dudley eased himself off the swing, and held out his hand, and as Harry got to his feet, he took it. "See you, then," Dudley said.

" 'Bye."

Dudley nodded, and after a moment's hesitation, where Harry couldn't help but feel there was something more he wanted to say, turned and ambled back towards the road.

At the sight of his retreating figure, with those plans still very vague, Harry felt a pang in his chest. "Dudley?" he said, and Dudley stopped, turned, his eyebrows raised in expectation. "I'm glad we ran into each other."

"Me too," Dudley said.

For a second, Harry thought he was going to turn again and walk away, but after a moment's thought, Dudley continued. "We could – we could do it again..? Something with the kids, maybe. Robbie doesn't have any real family, no other kids – "

"I'd like that."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"I didn't think, after everything – "

"Me either," Harry said.

And he hadn't, but –

"It's like Aunt Marge used to say, isn't it?" he said.

"What?" Dudley said, smiling slightly. " 'Don't you look at me like that, you ungrateful mongrel'?"

"No," Harry said, sniggering at the thought of all the things Aunt Marge had called him over the years, before growing serious and meeting Dudley's eye. "Blood will out."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, and something, some understanding of everything that had happened, and an acknowledgement that that wasn't what either of them wanted anymore, passed between them.

And for the first time in a very long time, Harry felt connected to his past in a way he'd never thought he'd want to be.

So he Conjured a biro, watched while Dudley scribbled his address and his mobile number on a scrap of paper, and, joking about how Dudley didn't want him appearing in the fireplace suddenly because he'd just bought a new car and couldn't afford to have half his lounge demolished, they walked down the road together.

These days, Harry thought, he didn't want for family, as he had done once upon a time; but family was one of those things it was impossible to have too much of, and for the first time probably ever, he was glad that Dudley was a part of it.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviewers get a push on the swings from a Harry Potter character of their choice ;).**


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